


Spike Does the Alphabet

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-24
Updated: 2005-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 14,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of ficlets, written for Summer Of Spike 2005, in which Spike is paired with someone whose name begins with each letter of the alphabet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Assailing Angry Authority - Spike/Anyanka/Angelus

**Author's Note:**

> All ficlets are independent of each other and can be read out of order or skipped.

Anyanka was lost. She materialized an inter-dimensional map, ignoring the two protesting male vampires she’d just interrupted in bed. “I _knew_ I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque,” she grumbled. Little did she know that, decades later, Angelus would repeat that line to a young animator named Chuck Jones, who would not only escape death but also immortalize those words in, horror of all things, a _bunny_. But that was beside the point.  
   
The point was that Angelus was prancing around, throwing a hissy fit. It was quite distracting, really. Anyanka froze him with one pinky and returned to her map.  
   
The younger vampire – Spike – blinked at her. “You’re a vengeance demon.”  
   
“Yes,” Anyanka offered sheepishly, “but I seem to be lost…”  
   
Spike lay back on the bed laughing, arms folded behind him and cock even _harder_ than before. It was a nice penis, Anyanka observed. “No accident, luv. The Grand Pooh Bah there,” Angelus made frustrated grunting noises, “summoned you.”  
   
Anyanka glanced at Angelus. He _certainly_ didn’t qualify for vengeance.  
   
“Figured he’d capture one of your lot and take over the world, or some rot. Frankly, I wasn’t paying much attention.” Spike gave Angelus a cheeky tongue waggle.  
                                                                                                                                                           
Angelus growled, but in his paralyzed state, it sounded more like a deflated wheeze.  
   
Anyanka’s face flushed with anger. “False summoning violates 1.08, sub-section 5b, of the Interdimensional Revenge Treaty!”  
   
“He won’t listen,” Spike yawned. “In one ear, out the other, with that one.”  
   
“Then I’m allowed to seek vengeance on the agency’s behalf,” Anyanka insisted. “With your assistance, of course.”  
   
“Really?” Spike sat up, mischief in his eyes. His erection was practically _thrumming_ now.  
   
“Boils, perhaps?”  
   
“Nah. Need some nasty mind-fuck.”  
   
Anyanka considered. “You could waste his wish, while he watches helplessly.”  
   
Spike grinned. “A woman after my own heart. Er…?”  
   
“Anyanka.” She actually _blushed_. Of course, it had been four-hundred years since she’d last enjoyed a penis. And Spike’s _was_ lovely. Had she mentioned that?  
   
“Anyanka.” He pondered, “Something guaranteed to piss Peaches off…”  
   
Anyanka had never been subtle. And she knew what she wanted. “If you still wanted sex, you could always give me the night off.”  
   
“Night off?”  
   
“So we can have intercourse.”  
   
“With Angelus watchin’?”  
   
“Preferably. With lube. And outfits.”  
   
“Deal, luv.” He held out his arms magnanimously.  
   
Anyanka disappeared the rather silly outfit she’d needed for this assignment – just who _wore_ canvas sacks covered with peacock feathers in this dimension, anyway? – and crawled onto Spike.  
   
“Don’t I have to say ‘I wish’?” Spike gasped as she wrapped her hand around his cock.  
   
“Only for our legal records, in case I plan on screwing you over later. Since I’m not…”  
   
“Right.” He rolled her beneath him with a moan.  
   
“Mmph!” Angelus complained, his face turning bright red with suppressed fury.  
   
Spike smirked at him evilly. “Looks like he’s about to blow. Might wanna unmuzzle him, luv. Give us some background music.”  
   
Anyanka beamed. So rarely did men fully appreciate vengeance. She restored Angelus’ voice. For the moment.  
   
“You’ll pay for this, William!” Angelus bellowed, as Spike inserted his penis into her vagina with pleasurable results. “You’ll be seein’ red for the next _century_!”  
   
And Anyanka smiled. After all, it wasn’t every night she got vengeance and _laid_. And Spike had a very large penis, indeed.


	2. Breaks Between Battles - Spike/Buffy

Spike became aware of the warmth quite suddenly and was jolted awake. Even in sleep, it seemed his task hadn’t eluded him. One second’s realization let him know that he was still in the cave, still guarding Dawn, still resting in the alcove. The momentary panic that Glory had found them faded since this certainly wasn’t an attack. In fact, as he lazily opened his eyes, the solution hit him: Obviously Dawn was feeling a bit anxious and had curled up next to him for comfort. The frightening part was that he didn’t even mind.  
   
But then he looked down at the head cushioned against his chest, recognized blonde locks, and almost sputtered in disbelief.  
   
“Am I hurting you?” Buffy didn’t look at him, keeping her face pressed into his t-shirt.  
   
His bruises ached, but hell like he was complaining. “No. But what are—?”  
   
“Shh,” she cut him off. “I just want to sleep.”  
   
And so they did. He could never refuse a lady.  
   


* * *

   
“Spike?”  
   
He woke up with a start, still jumpy about Glory even now that Dawn was gone. But, no, it was Buffy again. “Yeah, luv?”  
   
She didn’t even object to the pet name. Something was wrong. “I need your help.”  
   
He practically leapt out of bed. “ _Anything_ ,” he agreed fervently. “What happened?”  
   
Buffy bit her lip. He could smell the _fear_ on her, something he’d _never_ sensed before.  
   
“Buffy?”  
   
“She knows,” she practically whispered. “She knows Dawn’s the Key.”  
   
Spike gulped. “Dawn’s…?”  
   
“Safe. For now. But we need to get out, escape.”  
   
“We’re running?”  
   
Buffy nodded. “ _All_ of us.” He’d moved in closer, and her hand brushed lightly against his arm, letting him know that he wasn’t to be left out of this exodus.  
   
“Right,” he nodded. “Think I know the bloke to see.”  
   
For one perfect moment, she looked at him and tried to smile despite it all, before her lips brushed his for a second, tentative time. “Thank you.”  
   


* * *

   
“’Til the end of the world, luv. Even if that’s tonight.”  
   
Buffy looked like she had tears in her eyes, and he had the decency to look away. He knew she was trying to be strong for Dawn and all of them. After the disastrous events of their little road trip, it was nothing short of miraculous. No wonder he loved her.  
   
“Spike…” He loved the emotion when she said his name, and looked up. She was offering one nervous hand. “Please?”  
   
He frowned, unbelieving, but was up the stairs instinctively, and her fingers wrapped around his. She smiled and kissed him, and this time it wasn’t brief or tentative. This was open-mouthed, wild, filled with pain and regret…  
   
She yanked him back into her bedroom, onto her bed. Frantic hands were everywhere, pushing at clothing, clutching at flesh. Her legs were around him, and he was inside, their lips still locked passionately. Their hips moved needily, desperately, as if this was the last act of _life_ either of them would know. He came faster than he should have – almost shamefully so – but she did as well, so it was all right.  
   
Afterwards, they lay together in a tangle of limbs, still impossibly close, and she apologized.  
   
“Why?”  
   
“Because you deserve more…”  
   


* * *

   
Hours later, at the base of the tower, Spike looked through blood and tears at her crumpled body and _knew_. Because, all apologies and gratitude aside, his girl had been filled with nothing but love at the last. And he wept for the more they never had.


	3. Common Cosmic Confluents - Spike/Cordelia

They hovered together in a realm between life and death, waiting to return, to become Champions again.  
   
“Bloody stupid word, that,” Spike groused, fumbling with a cigarette.  
   
Cordelia didn’t understand the physics of why he could smoke or how she’d somehow become an agent of the Powers once more, but she knew they needed him in the final battle, so she caved to the Powers’ demand with a sigh and convinced him in a manner that he could actually understand. She’d never been one to beat around the bush.  
   
“This is your crotch,” she grabbed him matter-of-factly by the front of his jeans, and he groaned. “If you want it to stay intact in the afterlife, don’t piss me off and do what I say.” She tried not to feel guilty about how good his body felt. Also tried not to think too hard about why she hadn’t let him go yet.  
   
Or course, being Spike, he pushed that extra mile across the line of respectability. “Could use a bit more of that _persuasion_.”  
   
It just figured that he’d be turned on by this. How on earth had this perv ended up on the good guys’ side again? Oh right. The universe was doomed.  
   
Although he wasn’t an unattractive perv, and the way he nuzzled her throat was…  
   
Well, it wasn’t like his fangs could hurt her in this limbo. And screw the Powers. If they wanted a good girl, they should have tortured some other soul all these years.  
   
And, with that sorted to her satisfaction, her hand turned seductive, her grip arousing rather than casually threatening. Funny how her gentleness seemed to bring him more control, rather than drive him further over the edge. Oh, he was so very fucked up. Pretty, though. And it wasn’t like either of them would remember this when they returned to earth. Nope. Just good fun and no consequences. She could get used to that.  
   
His mouth was on hers now, and she smiled against his lips. She pushed him back, and he connected with something solid, although all she could see was the white light that permeated their purgatory. It acted like a horizontal surface, though, and she had no trouble taking advantage of it.  
   
“Neat,” he commented against her breast, which was suddenly, inexplicably bare. “Just think it, and it happens.”  
   
“Somehow I doubt the Powers had this in mind when they put us here,” she agreed with an almost wicked grin.  
   
“Best abuse their hospitality while we can,” he agreed and flipped them over.  
   
They were both naked then, he on top of her, and – sure – she’d done her fair share of ogling back in her high-school days before she was supposed to know that he was the enemy. But even in her wildest teenage imagination, she’d never pictured him like _this_. Strong, feral, and gorgeous in her arms.  
   
His naked body undulated above her, against her, inside her, and she clutched at his hair in bliss and fully enjoyed her massive ‘fuck you’ to anyone and everyone who thought that Cordelia Chase didn’t deserve the best fuck of her life after all she’d been through.


	4. Despised Despite Desperation - Spike/Drusilla/Darla/Dracula

Darla scowled as she watched their two cocks rub together, cold and hard between their bodies. Dracula – the great and powerful Dracula, who was supposed to be _her_ lover for the evening – was naked on top of an equally naked Spike and well set to have his way with the younger vampire. Really, she should have guessed that he’d prefer men, given the whole cape and fancy clothing get-up. Just her luck.  
   
About them, Drusilla seemed to have no issue with Dracula’s chosen favorite for the evening. She cooed and stroked hard male flesh wherever she could find it. Of course, Dru had never been the center of the universe, except occasionally in Spike’s love-struck mind. She’d never know what it was like to have males flaunting over her, so she could settle for less. Darla was merely disgusted.  
   
Even more so when Dracula began whispering endearments in foreign tongues, and Spike began making wry remarks about eleven pounds or something, and Dru fell between them with a little giggle and was welcomed with open arms. The mad little girl had no pride, no class, and what did she get for it? Two of the most infamous and powerful vampires in the world inside her at the same time.  
   
Darla seethed. Oh, once she’d known true power. When Angelus had been her boy and they’d struck fear into the whole of Europe. Before these young upstarts had turned her world upside-down.  
   
And, at that very moment, as the anger within her bubbled up, Spike suddenly seemed to remember her existence. Still buried within the tangle of pleasurable bodies, his eyes met hers and held on. Insolent little boy. He’d always acted as though he were better than he was. But, with a Slayer’s blood now in his veins, she could hardly deride him like she once had.  
   
He had the nerve to wink at her, and then he lost himself in the pleasure. Drusilla writhed beneath him and Dracula on top of him, and they were just the perfect little orgy, weren’t they? Taunting Darla with what she could have if she just gave in.  
   
A growl rumbled low in her chest, and not even she knew whether her demon wanted to rip Spike to shreds or tackle him back and have her wicked way with him. He was insufferable and irresistible all at once. Undoubtedly just to infuriate _her_.  
   
A moment’s weakness, and she suddenly found herself amidst the fray, found herself submitting to Spike as he pounded into her body, found herself screaming in ecstasy as bodies surrounded her on all sides, pleasuring her. It was only in the aftermath that she regretted her choice.  
   
“Neither of you will ever be him!” she snapped, snatching up her gown. “Angelus would have your blood.”  
   
Spike and Dracula both stared up at her, looking thoroughly nonplussed by her outburst. Perfectly set to start up their own little family, one in which she’d no longer hold the strings of power. The two of them had probably been planning it ever since Angelus’ fall from sin. Spike had always railed against Angelus, even from day one, and he seemed to have Dracula under his thumb – or cock – in a way that Angelus would never have allowed. Arrogant little brat was finally going to win, and all she could do was flee.  
   
“Hope _daddy_ knows how to give it to you right,” Spike called after her, the smirk evident in his voice. “Rumor has it, he’s gotten twisted enough that he can’t give it at all these days…”  
   
And she stormed out with a bang, even as she knew she’d come back. Oh, how she _loathed_ them all…


	5. An Elusive Exploration of Ethics - Spike/Eve/Ethan

With a demonic roar, Spike returned to the land of the living. For one dizzying, disorienting second, he thought he was still in the Hellmouth, still being burned alive by the fire of his soul. But, even as he felt it, he knew that the pain was gone, turned completely to ash. Somehow that amulet had burned through his flesh without incinerating, claiming only the prize he’d won in Africa as its sacrifice. In a way, it made sense; it had required a champion to consume, not the demon within.  
   
“It’s alive,” a wry voice announced. “Or, at least, undead.”  
   
Spike blinked and adjusted to the brightness, meeting the eyes, not of the British man who had spoken, but of a blonde woman with an insufferably smug smile on her face.  
   
“One of your devices finally worked,” she said. “I’m astonished.”  
   
“If you had so little faith in my abilities, you would hardly have chosen me as your partner in this venture.” The man circled around so that Spike could see him, and Spike had the strange feeling he’d seen the older man before.  
   
“A solid B+ for attempts at conspiratorial dialogue,” Spike rolled his eyes at the melodramatic pair. “Now, where the fuck am I?”  
   
The woman wrinkled her nose in distaste, as if she’d just expected him to sit back placidly and do whatever she wanted. “You’re free from your previous prison. That’s all you need to know for now,” she snapped.  
   
“Oh, that’s _sure_ to win him over to our side,” the man retorted sarcastically.  
   
Something about the bloke’s manner reminded Spike of dear old Rupert, and suddenly he remembered where he’d seen him before. He squinted slightly and, damn, if it wasn’t that same wanker that had turned Rupert into the Fyarl a couple years back. “Ethan Rayne, was it?” Spike recalled. “Last I heard, the Initiative had its heart set on givin’ you some Pavlovian programmin’ as well.”  
   
The older man smiled, as if delighted to be recognized. “You’re not the only one to orchestrate a clever escape.”  
   
“Good to know.”  
   
“Of course, I _did_ have the assistance of Eve here.” Ethan slid his arm around the woman from behind, and she seemed to settle into his arms quite comfortably for all their snapping earlier.  
   
“Lucky you,” Spike commented, bored. “Now, did you want to invite me to the wedding, or is there another reason you called?”  
   
“I work for Wolfram & Hart,” Eve informed him.  
   
“I see. Thanks ever so for the fiery amulet of death.”  
   
“We freed you from that _soul_.”  
   
Spike’s eyes narrowed.  
   
“And we offer you a chance for revenge.”  
   
“Against?”  
   
She picked up a file from the table and dropped it in front of him. “An old enemy of ours. I believe you know him…”  
   
Angel’s usual constipated expression looked up at him from the top picture. The last time he’d seen that face, Angel had had his lips all over Buffy, even as he’d known that Spike was trying to make his claim. Just to prove that he was no less a bastard _with_ the soul.  
   
The question was: Was Spike? He’d tried the revenge route so often before, failed so often. But then he’d tried to do the good thing, and that had only gotten him failure as well. Decisions, decisions, and no soul to make them…  
   
“Well?” Ethan asked impatiently.  
   
And Spike made up his mind.


	6. Frail Formulae For Flesh - Spike/Fred

Spike had never had anyone be… _gentle_ with him before. Like he was something amazing, wonderful, to be cherished. He’d tried, of course. With the way he’d been when he was human, how could he be otherwise? But Dru had learned everything she knew from Angelus, and considered lovemaking cute and endearing but not ultimately desirable. And Buffy… The less he thought about her, the better.  
   
But Fred didn’t have any problem lying with him nude in bed and exploring his body tenderly. Brow furrowed in intense concentration, her carefully study of every bit of muscle and sinew could almost have been called scientific, were it not for the reverence in her touch, the attempts to draw pleasure from him with nothing more than the brush of fingertips along his thigh.  
   
It was a gesture he returned almost awkwardly. As if the hundred-plus years of experience he had were suddenly worthless. When it came to being loved, Fred was definitely the expert. It left him helpless in so many ways. All his patented seduction had garnered him was a good-humored eye roll, but a few genuine shared moments, and she was touching him like he was…  
   
 _Real._  
   
So he did the only thing he knew how. Took her with his body and mouth, moved inside her and against her, anything he could do to make her moan. But even this was different. Hands held him close, eyes met his, body moved – not for her own pleasure – but for _his_. No one had ever helped him along before, acted like it mattered whether he…  
   
He came embarrassingly quickly. Swore to himself under his breath.  
   
Fred just giggled and stroked his cheek slowly. Like she didn’t care that she hadn’t had her chance. Like being with him mattered _more_.  
   
He buried his head in the pillow beside her head and tried to get a grip on himself. Leave it to him to muck things up when the girl finally wanted him back.  
   
“You okay?” she finally asked softly.  
   
He let out an almost inarticulate grunt. This was almost uncomfortable, this newness. It was like that old saying: _Be careful what you wish for, for it may come true._ “Fine.”  
   
“Only ‘fine’?”  
   
She was teasing him, the little devil. She had that little smile on her face that let him know that she _got_ him on some fundamental level, saw through all his bullshit but still loved what she saw beneath his act. He loved her for that look and hated her at the same time.  
   
“Fan-bloody-tastic,” he retorted sarcastically.  
   
“You’re incredible.” The laughter was gone from her voice now, and all that was left was truth.  
   
“Yeah,” he snorted in disbelief, “ _real_ incredible.”  
   
She shrugged. “Not because of that,” she corrected. “Because you’re…” she made a confused little motion of her hands upon his chest, and it really was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen, “… _Spike_.” As if several awkward flips of her wrist captured his essence. “Besides, there’s always next time.”  
   
And something about those two words pulled the last of the tension from his body. He realized belatedly that he’d been fighting this – _her_ – all along. Still playing the part, the perfect lover, whatever the girl needs…  
   
But ‘next time’. That had a nice ring to it. Like one mistake, or even a dozen, wouldn’t cause the one thing he cared about to be ripped cruelly from him. Like he had all the time in the world to find his way, find him _self_.  
   
And damned if Junior wasn’t stoked up to try to make a _real_ go of it this time. No wonder Fred was smiling at him like that.


	7. Great Goddesses, Galvanizing and Gaudy - Spike/Gwen & Spike/Glory

Spike never got the lightning goddess’ name. A brief attack, the collision of bodies, and deadly sparks. Only the sparks hadn’t been so deadly to him.  
   
She’d looked at him in awed disbelief for a moment, and then her hands had been all over him, desperate, as if she’d never touched a man before and had been waiting all her life for this opportunity. And, yeah, he’d been out for a meal that night rather than a fuck, but he wasn’t about to complain. Especially when electrifying hands yanked down his pants and bright red lips wrapped around his dick eagerly.  
   
She’d been strangely inexperienced, for all the raw sexuality her red leather outfit promised, but he’d guided her more than happily, burying himself within her hot, wet mouth and coming to sparks of ecstasy.  
   
Before he’d known what was happening, she’d been on top of him, unsure and yet determined to be in charge. He’d guided himself in – so fucking tight, he’d wondered if he was the first – and then he’d caught her hips roughly and showed her how it was done. Ripe breasts in his palms, her skin sizzling as she writhed atop him, the sparks not coming just from her now but also from the unstable summer air that exploded into lightning shower around them. Bright blue flashes illuminated their mating, exposed their sin for all the world to see. Spike loved every minute of it.  
   
She’d been gone by the time he finally awoke in that last hour before dawn. He’d crawled to safety from the sun’s rays and pondered his encounter with the strange being. He had no clue what she’d been – and got the distinct impression that she’d been similarly baffled by his identity – but he’d named her ‘goddess’ because that sure as hell had been what she’d felt like as she’d ridden his cock as hard and fast as she could.  
   
He’d never thought he’d fuck a _real_ goddess and actually get to compare.  
   
Her Patheticness Glorificus was nothing like the goddess he’d once known. She was rough to the point of pain, and rather than leading their wildness, she held him down, pinning him helplessly beneath her as she had her fun with his body. This wasn’t primal, but vengeful. Glory thought the Slayer treasured him, so she struck the wickedest way a woman knew how. He almost corrected her of her delusion, but then curiosity got the better of him, and now he was paying for every minute he spent inside the real goddess’ body.  
   
It just figured that actual sex with a goddess was no good. Yet another delightful fantasy of his ruined forever. The story of his fucking life. This one only cared for her own pleasure, and it was back to the latest round of ‘punch the Spike’ as soon as she was done.  
   
And, in the back of his mind, he decided that he liked his lightning goddess a whole lot better. Wherever she might be and whatever she’d actually been.


	8. Hatred, Humanity, and Harm - Spike/Harmony

Angelus had always taught him that human emotions were insignificant, weak. It was a lesson Spike had had beaten into his brain more times that he could count. Demons didn’t love; demons didn’t have feelings; demons only experienced pain and pleasure, and were perverse enough to enjoy both. For all Angelus’ talk of the ‘sophisticated’ kill, he was really fairly flat, after all. He’d allowed anger and rage and hate, but never anything soft, never anything sweet, never anything that made life worth living. As Angelus would argue, once you were dead, why did you need to live in the first place?  
   
It was a philosophy Spike had railed against when he’d been with Dru, especially during that century they’d spent in no other company than each other’s. If Angelus had been right about anything, it was that Dru was, indeed, a fickle demoness; she’d be as cold and unfeeling as Angelus wanted when they were together, but when she’d been with Spike… She could be just as loving as her lover wanted, or none at all. For a century Spike had believed Dru had loved him, but now he began to wonder. She was so hell-bent – literally – on making her mate dote on her, that she’d do anything ‘daddy’ wanted. Even feign love.  
   
Which had led him to the conclusion that maybe Angelus had been right all along. Maybe Angelus hadn’t been the odd man out; maybe _Spike_ had. Lingering tendrils of humanity still swirled within him that should have been driven out ages ago. Why else would he have allied himself with the Slayer? Self-interest was fine and dandy, but the love behind it? In a way, it was _sick_ , for a demon like him. And hadn’t that been what Dru had sensed in the end? What had cost him her forever?  
   
The epiphany, like so many others, had occurred to him one night in a bar in southern California while he was pissed out of his mind. And the solution was equally simple: Do what Angelus had never succeeded in doing for him. Finally drive the weakness out.  
   
And so he’d snatched up the nearest vampiress he could find – some blonde bimbo who smelled of peppermint – dragged her back to his lair despite her protests, and shown her exactly what he wanted of her.  
   
The lips around his cock were all the softness he needed. His climax, all the sweetness. The lustful glint in her eyes, all the affection.  
   
Hell, she was even an annoying little thing, bubbly and scatter-brained and so completely lacking in common sense that it was a wonder she hadn’t been staked before now.  
   
“Oh, Spikey!” she practically squealed as she curled up against him afterward. “You were _amazing_.”  
   
And the next step was plain as day. Toss her aside. Ridicule and torment her and let her know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he absolutely did _not_ feel any of that cursed human _affection_ , especially not for a ditz like her.  
   
It was so easy, so simple. It wasn’t even a lie this time. He just had to reach out and _hurt_ , the way demons were meant to do.  
   
He opened his mouth to speak, gulped, and shut it again. Buried his face in bubblegum hair and swore to himself. Let her hold him and caress him like there was something _more_ in them than just bloodthirsty killers.  
   
Fuck. He _was_ weak. No wonder his life was so pathetic.


	9. Irrational, Illogical, Improbable…and Irresistible - Spike/Illyria

“The sensory adapters in this shell indicate that your form is… _acceptable_ for mating.”  
   
Spike leapt up in bed with something that sounded rather like a wheezing “ack,” his arms flailing wildly and catching in the sheet as he did so, giving him the rather comical appearance of a frenetic ghost. “You! What! I!” he exclaimed erratically, limbs still flapping about in a thoroughly ineffective way.  
   
Illyria cocked her head to one side and crawled further onto the bed. “My visual receptors are sending stimuli to my sexual organs at the sight of your body,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “I believe this shell wishes to copulate.”  
   
Something about her calm, articulate – and entirely surreal – manner caused his brain to finally click back into place, and he gaped at her in disbelief. “What the bloody hell are you doin’ in my bed?” he practically roared. And then, because it was far too obvious not to point out, added: “Naked!”  
   
Illyria considered him before placing one hand on either side of his chest on the mattress, effectively trapping him. “My research into human fornication informed me that the complete mental ineptitude of my chosen mate need not correlate to the pleasure he will bring me physically.” She thought about that for another moment, as if weighing whether she was in full agreement, before nodding to herself. “We shall mate,” she informed him in a voice that brooked no argument.  
   
“What the…?” Okay, so maybe Spike’s brain, even at its best, couldn’t fully comprehend _this_ latest twist in dear old Blue’s deranged worldview. “How the hell are you even _here_? It’s eight-fucking-thirty in the morning!”  
   
She snorted disdainfully. “Weak metal rods and thin barriers of wood are but insects compared to my might.”  
   
“You broke in the door?” he demanded angrily. At least that was one fact he could wrap his mind around.  
   
“This shell required sexual gratification. You irritate us regularly. These ‘television’ programs you have used to instruct me in the ways of this new world demonstrated clearly that this means that we must engage in intercourse.” She yanked aside the sheet to find that – and, oh why, couldn’t he have gone against his habit just this one night? – he was completely naked underneath. “My self-lubricating functions respond to the sight of your skin. You are an irrational creature, covering your flesh with clothing when it suits you not, yet still I desire you. Does that make me irrational as well?” She leaned in and flicked out a long, blue, and _forked?_ tongue against the line of his solar plexus.  
   
He yelped and would’ve jumped right off the bed, were her hands not holding him in place. “Irrational? You’re out of your pretty blue mind!”  
   
“You protest, yet compliment me in one breath. And your body responds to my foreplay,” she said, sounding quite smug with herself. She crawled up him further, pressing her back against the pillows.  
   
He gulped. There was no denying that last part. Fuck. Was he ever going to be able to have a brawl with a woman _without_ fantasizing about getting her beneath the sheets afterwards? “That doesn’t—” he began.  
   
“You talk too much,” she concluded and, rather sloppily, as if she didn’t quite know how she was supposed to do it, her lips closed over his to shut him up.  
   
And, really, what could he do? It wasn’t like he was going to kick a gorgeous, naked goddess out of his bed. Hell, it was his own fault anyway, letting her watch Sex and the City all last week. He should’ve known something completely off-the-wall would come of that.  
   
So, with a sigh and a moan, Spike surrendered to his own personal cross to bear. But only reluctantly. Really.


	10. Juggling the Jester and the Judge - Spike/Joyce

Joyce was always torn by what to make of him. She knew enough about what was happening in Buffy’s life as a Slayer to know that, for the most part, he was safe now. At least, he couldn’t harm humans. Buffy had told it like a joke, a great irony of the universe, but Joyce had seen the other side, had come home one evening to find him sitting on her front steps, smoking furiously, and looking downright miserable. She didn’t question why he’d come to her, just assumed that it was because she’d offered him consolation once before. And he didn’t say much that first night, just repeated the story Buffy had told her – only more Mengelesque – as he stared down into his empty mug.  
   
It had become a habit, though. Some nights he’d be broken and defeated. Others he’d be witty and charming. And some he’d just be silent and brooding, although he always protested as if horribly offended if she dared refer to him as the b-word.  
   
In time, he was almost a…friend. He was the only visitor she had now that Buffy was preoccupied with college and her life away from home. Joyce had been suffering more than a little from empty nest syndrome, she knew, and Spike brought out her maternal instincts, her compassion. It was a delicate balance of comfort and comforting between them. Something to do in the hours after dark, when the world outside was no longer safe for her kind, and he was no longer welcome among his kind.  
   
He was something she could understand that the others didn’t. They were caught up in battles, and – with the exception of Rupert – were so very young and naïve in ways they still didn’t realize. But, if she couldn’t condone his former ways, at least she could try to understand them, could listen to him discuss killing sprees as if they were days at the beach, a long-lost and fondly-remembered youth of sorts. His kind was backwards, humanity twisted on its head, but for all that not so different from the mortals he’d once fed upon. It was fascinating and somehow so very reassuring. Even evil, at its core, had nothing but human wants and needs.  
   
He schemed – almost in an endearing matter for how doomed each plan was to failure – and he dared to hope – cursing fate and fighting against it all at once – and, when he was with her at least, he even smiled and cautiously admitted that maybe _some_ things about his new life weren’t so bad, after all. Joyce had actually come to enjoy his little idiosyncrasies over the years, how he could sneak into the hospital at night to bring her flowers and then talk so proudly about how he’d ripped something or other’s head off earlier that night, as if there were no contradiction between the two acts. It almost made her think she was understanding the disparate halves of her daughter for the first time…  
   
And, then, he’d gone too far.  
   
One declaration of love, and her door was closed to him forever. Because, as funny and sweet as he could be, Joyce insisted that he was still a monster.  
   
It was the one thing she regretted after she died and saw what followed.


	11. The Killer, the Knave, and Kink - Spike/Kendra

The blonde Slayer was too close to things, too dangerous. Spike would have his revenge on her, to be sure, but he wasn’t ready to play his hand with that bitch. Not until the moment was right.  
   
Fortunately, there was a second Slayer in town. He slunk through the shadows on newly-healed legs and watched her, her power filling the air and distracting him from he-was-glad-he-didn’t-know-what Angelus and Dru were doing at the moment. Or maybe not distracting him well enough. Because, at that moment, the dark Slayer paused, her senses hyper-alert and her nostrils flared.  
   
He halted at the edge of her awareness, and made a choice. Risky? Yes. But the temptation was too sweet, the girl too pure and untouched for him to resist for long. He’d never been patient.  
   
His first attack knocked the stake from her hand, and the second had her pressed up against the Robinson Mausoleum, her nubile young body squirming in his grasp. This one wasn’t as much of a challenge as the other, but her blood still sang to him, a heady aphrodisiac that had him hard against her within seconds.  
   
“You will die,” she informed him coldly, her accent thick and exotic.  
   
He tisked softly. “Doesn’t look likely, luv.” He twisted one arm roughly behind her back. With his free hand, he lazily traced a line down her throat, over the curve of her shoulder…  
   
She froze, her breath suddenly coming in harsh gasps. “Don’t touch me,” she ordered.  
   
He merely chuckled against the back of her neck. “Those sweet lips ‘f yours say no,” he purred, rubbing against her as he sniffed the night air, “but your other lips… Those seem to be wonderin’ just whether your sister in demon-slayin’s little romp with the undead was worth the trouble… Up for a try yourself?”  
   
Her eyes were squeezed shut, her jaw set, but she said nothing. Her entire body had stilled against his, and he rubbed his cock against her ass through the material of their jeans slowly, methodically. The smell of arousal increased.  
   
“Watchers think they’ve got it all figured out,” he whispered huskily against her ear, his hand slipping between her legs to rub her through the denim, “but they haven’t a clue. About how all that _energy_ your kind has gets wound up with nowhere to go. And ‘bout how _my_ kind knows _exactly_ how to release it…” His thumb ground up suddenly, and a low moan escaped her lips.  
   
He could feel the first signs of a female body awakening beneath his fingertips, the deadly and erotic scent of her perfuming the night air. Honestly, if vampires were supposed to be afraid of Slayers, they shouldn’t smell this damn good.  
   
“You want more?” His fangs extended against her and…  
   
A shout from across the cemetery caused them both to freeze. Suddenly woken from her stupor – and the poor girl _did_ seem inordinately susceptible to vampire charms – she elbowed him in the stomach.  
   
He leapt back in time to avoid her next blow and left her with a wink. “Best not say anything,” he taunted. “Gotta preserve that righteous self-image.”  
   
And vanished into the night, leaving Kendra shell-shocked and more than willing to hide the fact that the whole encounter had ever occurred.


	12. A Logical Look at Love - Spike/Lydia

“Well,” Lydia sighed contentedly against his chest, “that was quite… _educational_.”  
   
He smiled half-heartedly and closed his eyes, letting the slowing thrum of her heart relax him, the silken feel of her skin caress him, hold him.  
   
“I think I’m beginning to understand now why Drusilla stayed with you for over a century,” she commented casually, resting her cheek in the crook of his arm and watching him try to sleep.  
   
“All for the good of science, pet,” he teased lightly.  
   
Pleased as always to show her knowledge of her subject – him – she couldn’t help but add, “You’re…gentler that I’d anticipated.”  
   
He grunted. “Can’t hurt humans, now can I?”  
   
“Possibly,” she conceded. “Have you noticed a marked change in your behavior?”  
   
“You mean besides fightin’ hell goddesses instead of helpin’ them?”  
   
She considered that for a moment. “No, I don’t think you’d ever have assisted Glory. You’re not fond of playing the lackey.”  
   
“Brilliant insight into my unlife right there,” he snorted into his pillow.  
   
“And the alliance you formed with Buffy—”  
   
He tried not to wince at the sound of her name.  
   
“—against Angelus indicates a heightened sense of consequences than most demons consider. You sought self-interest in the long run, rather than merely the short-term.”  
   
“Fascinating,” he retorted dryly. Truth be told, the last thing he wanted to think about at the moment was why he helped Buffy in the first place.  
   
“I can’t help but wonder if that tendency would have led to the demonic ostracism you face now, even without the chip,” she pondered. Just his luck that he found himself a lover who turned philosophical after sex.  
   
“You’re welcome to remove the chip and find out,” he retorted cheekily.  
   
She laughed lightly at that and kissed his chest. “I hadn’t anticipated the humor, either. The seduction, certainly, but that serves its purpose on the hunt. But laughter… Of course, trying to analyze you as if your primary motivation is solely to lure in food, is often a futile gesture. More so than other demons.”  
   
“Uh-huh.”  
   
“I’m boring you.”  
   
“Often.”  
   
“That’s a more familiar demonic trait,” she decided. “Although one that many humans possess as well.”  
   
He laughed at that. “There’s no insulting you, is there, luv?”  
   
“No. As it seems is the case with you.”  
   
“Touché.”  
   
“You are one of the primary specimens for the theory that human tendencies and traits carry over into the demon form, you know,” she commented casually.  
   
“Oh? And what d’you know about what I was like as a human?” he demanded.  
   
She sighed. “Nothing, unfortunately. There are several theories as to your original human name, but none has been proven.” There was a hint of hopefulness in her voice.  
   
“’m not tellin’ you a damn thing about that.”  
   
“I thought not,” she agreed resignedly. “Which leads me back to my original conclusion that the motivating factor for all your trials stems from some issue with a male authority figure in your life, an issue which later transferred onto Angelus. A one-upmanship of sorts, in which you seek to triumph where he could not – in holding Drusilla’s affections and conquering Slayers – and by defying his rather strict insistence that vampires not exhibit human-like characteristics. I can only assume your interest in the current Slayer results from the same impulse.”  
   
And he sighed. “You just don’t get it, do you?”  
   
She just smiled. “You’re free to try to demonstrate further.”  
   
But, even as he did, he knew it was fruitless. After all, as controversial as Lydia’s theories were, even she would never be able to accept the notion that a demon could love…


	13. A Meeting of the Moribund and the Mordant - Spike/Master

“Y’know,” Spike commented casually, looking less than impressed upon meeting the Master of his line and Order of Aurelius, “think I saw a picture of you in one of those human magazines. National Enquirer, I believe. ‘Amazing Bad Boy Discovered In Cave’.”  
   
“You dare mock me?” was the imperious response.  
   
“Well, it’s not such a dare, is it?” Spike leapt up onto the vestibule and studied the archaic cross there as if it didn’t disturb him in the slightest. “I mean, you’re practically bubble boy, arencha? A metaphysical drain plug.” He grimaced. “Rough gig, that. Not much to do but sit here and twiddle your thumbs. I can see why you make the lackeys go through all sorts of silly rituals.”  
   
“Impertinent fledglings had best learn to mind their elders.”  
   
“Or you’ll what? Waggle your willie at me menacingly?”  
   
“My power lies not merely in my own hands, but in those of my followers.”  
   
“Yeah.” Spike grimaced. “Not too bright, are they? You’d think someone would’ve knocked it through their thick skulls by now that if they all stopped waitin’ on you hand and foot, no one would be left to off ‘em.”  
   
“You threaten rebellion,” the Master hissed.  
   
“Yeah, I do that a lot.” Spike shrugged and finally leapt back down from his examination of the cross. “It’s fun.” He waggled his tongue for effect.  
   
“I could have that tongue removed.”  
   
“But you’d lose a chunk of minions in the process, and the funny thing about minions is that, once this first bunch dies, the second tend to be more worried about saving their own asses than followin’ orders. You just can’t get good help these days.”  
   
The Master paused and considered the recalcitrant young vampire that circled his lair curiously. It was hard to believe such a… _careles_ s individual had defeated a Slayer in combat and tasted her blood. For millennia, the Order had founded itself upon discipline and honor. This new generation knew nothing of the sort.  
   
“The Great Blood weakens,” he finally concluded. “I now understand Darla’s concerns…”  
   
Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that bird’s a real antsy one. Thinks that if she sticks her nose high enough in the air, everyone will follow her beck and call. Personally, I find a little display of strength and unpredictability does the trick.” He offered his elder a fangy grin.  
   
“You would threaten my position in the Order?”  
   
Spike broke into hysterics. “Fuck, no!” He laughed even harder when the Master seemed thoroughly and genuinely offended by his choice of language. Geezer. “Why the bloody hell would I want to sit around, boring myself cross-eyed and bat-eared, while idiots scrambled around to lick my boots? No fun in that, no carnage.” He shook his head in distaste.  
   
“I weary of your attitude.”  
   
“About time.”  
   
“Guard!” the Master shouted out, but Spike had already ducked through the door and barreled through the two approaching vampires. Trapped in his prison, unable to do anything but listen and wait, the Master seethed. Finally, the report came that Spike had escaped. He had the guards killed as an example. He even allowed Darla to do the staking.  
   
She curled up to him afterwards, cooing softly. “He ran in terror,” she concluded happily. “I knew you’d be able to teach him a lesson.”  
   
But inwardly, for the first time in centuries, he doubted himself. The new face of demonkind was rebellious, disrespectful, insouciant, and not very frightened at all. In the face of an apathetic new generation, what could he do? “Yes, my dear.” But lie.


	14. Natural Needs Notwithstanding - Spike/Nikki

Nikki despised that punk vampire with a single-minded passion.  
   
She’d hated him the first time she’d seen him, when he’d ripped a woman out of her car in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge and drained her dry and then had the nerve to _wink_ her way before he leapt over the edge, into the chasm below with nothing more than an uproarious laugh.  
   
She’d hated even more on their second encounter, when they’d tangled with fists and claws and he’d asked her if she was enjoying their ‘romp’ and proceeded to make lewd comments about how he’d love to ‘taste’ her.  
   
And she’d hated him most of all, when he’d popped up during her patrol every day that week, teasing her with his body intentionally brushing hers and taunting her with the erotic motions of his dance.  
   
But even more than she hated him, she _despised_ herself. The way her heart would pound when he pulled her close, the way her spine shivered at the roughness of his accent, the way her eyes lingered on his hardened sex just for a moment before battle could begin.  
   
She despised herself because she was betraying everything she was and everything she stood for. She was Slayer, holy weapon, sacred vessel. But even her Watcher had whispered at the wisdom of the Powers That Be for allowing a woman who had already born a child to take up the sacred duty. He’d never said the words to her face, but she’d heard him talking with others on the Council, about “Slayers like that” and the fates they met. And she knew that, chosen or not, she was dirty. She would fail, and the power would pass on to another more worthy, and her son and everyone else would know. And resigning herself to her fate was fitting, the best she could hope to achieve.  
   
But _he_ made her question all that. He laughed and twirled and teased and inflected such violent _joy_ into their fights that, for a moment, she remembered what joy really was. Remembered dreams that hadn’t been filled with blood and death, but delight and rapture. A demon’s rapture was a sick sort, of course, but if demons could enjoy this life, then why couldn’t _she_? And, if he was the one exception that broke the rule for demons, then why couldn’t she be the one who broke it for Slayers?  
   
The thoughts haunted her mind: Life or sacrifice? She knew which her Watcher would choose; she knew which the demon would choose. And, was there something wrong with her that her own wishes coincided with the demon’s?  
   
She went out that night with purpose in her steps. And the demon found her soon enough, leapt into the subway car with her and grinned that jubilant grin. They fought as they always did, and the ecstasy of battle – of _him_ – filled her until she’d caught him beneath her, between her thighs and her stake, where she’d always wanted him. And she made her choice. She did the Right Thing. She gave up.


	15. Objectionable Observations - Spike/Oz

The night meant wildness, freedom, time for beasts that were tame all day long to finally enjoy _their_ time upon the earth. Some creatures of the night reveled in it, while others feared it, fought it. Struggled against their very natures, their very selves. And it was that scent Spike recognized in the cemetery that evening as he got a bead on the Slayer and her merry little band of followers. Intriguing and elusive. But most of all tempting, because if there was one way to get his revenge on that annoyingly peppy little girl, it was to turn one of those very pals who gave her strength.  
   
The passed the dippy pair he’d kidnapped on his last romp through town. Because, while the pretty little redhead still had the tinge of magic about her, that wasn’t what was drawing him this night. The Slayer herself was still as bubbly and freshly pink as ever, although Angel and misery still lingered over her; a Slayer in denial, just great. But the last member of their little group… He’d seen the boy before, of course, but never paid him much mind. This night, however, power seemed to be rippling under the boy’s skin, desperate to leak out. Spike grinned and led him away from the room. A simple matter of drawing the other humans away with false sounds to follow.  
   
And the boy was quick, quicker than the others to notice that they were out of eyesight. He froze in a small clearing in the cemetery and sniffed the air cautiously. Instantly, his eyes turned in Spike’s direction.  
   
“Demon in you ’s gettin’ stronger,” Spike commented, appearing to melt from the shadows as he began to circle the boy.  
   
The other’s expression remained impassive. “I’m no a demon.”  
   
“A were,” Spike conceded. “Although really, mate, does it matter? You’ve still got something dark and nasty squirming around at the back on your mind, thirsty for blood and violence…”  
   
“Three nights a month,” Oz corrected him. His eyes narrowed slightly. Spike got the impression that, for him, that was quite the reaction.  
   
“Only that?” Spike came to a halt and leaned casually against the Harper Crypt. “You honestly mean to tell me that when you’re with that sweet little girlfriend of yours—”  
   
“Don’t,” Oz practically growled with anger.  
   
“—the demon in you isn’t even _tempted_ to have a go at her? See just how beautifully she bleeds?”  
   
“Shut _up_!” It was practically a shout.  
   
And the Slayer’s answering shout across the cemetery let Spike know only too well that he only had moments before the cavalry arrived. “An impressively noble monster who doesn’t want to turn his mate into another of his kind,” he added lightly, with a wink. “When you’re finally ready to play with the monsters, mate…” He looked the boy up and down.  
   
And Oz shivered, as if the monster within him was fighting to respond, and only his clenched fists kept it at bay.  
   
A smirk, and Spike was gone.  
   
And the rest of the gang was back in the clearing in only seconds.  
   
“Are you all right?” Willow asked anxiously, taking his hand.  
   
Oz managed a slight smile. “No problem at all.” But inside, his demon was just a little bit louder, a little bit more out of control than it had been moments before.  
   
From the shadows, Spike grinned. Chaos initiated.


	16. Partnership with a Perverse Parasite - Spike/Parker

Spike had long since given up on trying to make heads or tails of Harm’s hair-brained ideas. This one, however, topped them all.  
   
His grandiose attempt to keep a low profile until he found the Gem of Amara had been foiled due to, you guessed it, Harm the previous night. He’d spent a good ten minutes trying to give the Slayer the boot and had completely lost track of Harm in the shuffle. When he’d finally come home, she’d still been out, and a part of him couldn’t help but hope that the Slayer had caught up with her. Another part of him dreaded the notion if only because Harm would have spilled every last detail of his plan the moment she was caught.  
   
Her scent lingered, though, indicating that she’d been both in and out last night after he’d gone to bed. The fact that she hadn’t woken him up with one of her god-awful embarrassing pet-names made him suspicious, however. Whenever Harm wasn’t hanging off of him, she was generally doing something boneheaded. Actually, hanging off of him was pretty boneheaded in and of itself, but at least that was moderated.  
   
With a sigh, he’d gotten out of bed, found his clothes, and followed the lingering scent to whatever the hell Harm was doing. And, oh, this one was a doozie.  
   
Harm had run off for the evening, it seemed, but in the little alcove she’d left behind was that damn boy who’d been itching to get into the Slayer’s pants the night before. Harm must’ve taken him out while Buffy’d played ‘chase the Spike’ all over Sunnydale. In a perverse sort of way, it almost made sense.  
   
What _didn’t_ make sense was why the boy was now of the undead persuasion. The kid had been goofy enough looking as a human, but puppy-dog eyes and brow ridges definitely didn’t go together. Also, the fangs kind of thoroughly defeated the sensitive look the kid was trying to affect.  
   
“Fuck.” It was really the only thing Spike could say. Apparently, this was Harm’s definition of ‘keeping a low profile’. “Double fuck.”  
   
The boy blinked at him. “Y-You’re a vampire, right?”  
   
Spike snorted. The kid was practically _oozing_ vulnerability. In case anyone ever needed an essay about how annoying people became even _more_ annoying vampires. Hell, Harm had probably done the Slayer a favor by knocking this wanker off before he could get in her pants.  
   
“M-My Sire…” Okay, demonic eyelashes should _not_ flutter. “She left, and I don’t know... My father left me too, you know. He died when I was—”  
   
“Look, I don’t care, all right?” Spike finally exclaimed with distaste. Great, now his was stuck with bubbly shopper _and_ manipulative fragility as his side-kicks. “The act only works on silly birds.”  
   
Parker bit his lip and then flinched in pain when his fangs cut it. “Ow.” He sighed. “Damn…” A pause. “Will it still work on dinner?”  
   
Spike considered that for a moment. A thoughtful!boy could probably lure in tons of pretty, brainless prey… “Actually, you might be onto something there…” He pulled out a cigarette, offered the boy one too, which was refused.  
   
The kid shrugged uncaringly. “I suppose that’s all that matters, then,” he concluded.  
   
Spike looked at him again, this time picking up more of the fledgling’s cool indifference. Maybe he wouldn’t make such a bad vamp, after all…  
   
“So, wanna fuck?”  
   
It seemed like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.


	17. Quite Quarrelsome Questioning - Spike/Quentin Travers

If there was one thing Spike hated, it was waking up with that drugged feeling in his head to find out that he was in a room he’d never seen before. Bad flashbacks to the Initiative there.  
   
However, this time he at least had the faintest idea what was happening. A part of him had known that it probably wasn’t a good idea to poke his nose around those wankers from the Watchers Council, what with him being incapacitated among humans and all. But then, he’d never really been fond of good ideas.  
   
The old tweed job that appeared before the cell he’d been locked into confirmed that theory easily enough. Someone must’ve gotten a feed of him with a tranq dart. Damn, he was losing his touch as a mysterious creature of the night. Probably the side effect of hanging around with the cattle.  
   
“You were found in the library,” Lord Fuddy-Duddy informed him imperiously with a snootier-than-thou accent that Spike was sure was supposed to make him tremble in his booties. Ponce obviously didn’t know that trick only worked on Americans.  
   
“Yeah, I figured that,” Spike drawled lazily, “what with me bein’ in the library and all.”  
   
A displeased frown furrowed the man’s brow. Apparently, he didn’t like having his authority mocked; he must’ve _hated_ Buffy… “You’re William the Bloody.”  
   
“You mean I _have_ been selected as a contestant for the Watchers’ version of ‘This Is Your Unlife’?” He tilted his head to one side. “You’re no Ralph Edwards, mate. Which is saying something…”  
   
“You were reading the files we’ve been collecting on Buffy Summers.”  
   
“You’re concerned about _why_ I was reading the files you lot ‘ve got on the Slayer,” he retorted in the exact same briskly informative tone as all of the other man’s ‘questions’.  
   
“She informed us that you help her on occasion…” He was sitting back, puzzling over Spike now. Apparently, he’d realized that his interrogation techniques weren’t getting him much more than a few laughs.  
   
“Did she now?” Spike grinned. “What else did she say about me?” God, he was pathetic at times…  
   
“That you’re neutered. Completely unable to hurt humans,” was the smug reply.  
   
“Hey!” Spike couldn’t help but protest.  
   
“Yet you choose to assist the Slayer, of all people. Even going so far as to break into our home base, as it were.” The man sat back, fingers steepled.  
   
Spike’s fury came and went. He absentmindedly rubbed at a spot on his duster. “Yeah, ‘m funny like that. And the Slayer’s got no clue I’m here, just for the record.”  
   
“Your motivations are puzzling.”  
   
“So are yours. Unless you’ve got a bit of a fetish for the very prey you hunt. Rumor has it you lot like to lock up the prettiest of us. Got a thing for bondage? Or is it bestiality to you?” He sniffed the air in distaste. “ _Something’s_ got you hard, anyway. Shoulda known you were a lot of perverts.”  
   
The man’s face paled. “I…never!”  
   
“Just thought about it afterward in bed, then?” Spike leaned back and slipped his tongue behind his teeth seductively. “Very cheap…”  
   
An outraged huff, a storm of accusations, and an abrupt departure, and then the guards came back in and shot him up again. Next thing Spike knew, he was waking up in the middle of dear old Sunnydale Memorial. He snorted in distaste and headed home, all the while thanking his good sense that had told him never to underestimate the denial of a repressed pervert.


	18. Rules of Recoil - Spike/Rona

“You all right?”  
   
Spike looked up from where he was wrapping bandages about the ribs Buffy had accidentally injured during their little spar that afternoon. A raised eyebrow followed the entrance of the girl into his basement dwelling. “Right as rain in a few hours,” he offered. “Rona, is it?”  
   
She nodded and studied him skeptically, arms crossed over her chest. “Buffy says we’re not s’posed to be down here,” she informed him.  
   
“Then, you’d best be going.”  
   
She nodded again, eyes still on him. “You don’t seem that scary to me.”  
   
He sighed. “You didn’t see me in the good old days,” he explained.  
   
“Anya says you were _never_ scary,” Rona countered. “That you just liked to pretend you were, and…er…”  
   
He grimaced. “Either somethin’ about my penis or the economic inefficiency of my plans,” he guessed.  
   
The flush on her cheeks led him to believe that the former, at least, was true. Knowing Anya, the latter probably was too.  
   
“You don’t seem so bad to me,” she finally concluded, still looking at him.  
   
He realized belatedly that he had his shirt off. Great, just what he needed: All sorts of little girls to start developing crushes on him. It was something he was going to have to deal with, and fast, if he didn’t want the situation to get out of control.  
   
With a grateful little smirk, he met her eyes and winked. He watched her gulp, listened to the pounding of her accelerating heartbeat, smelled the first scents of unsure sexuality in the air. The girl didn’t even know to guard herself against vampire senses. Even better.  
   
“Can you give me a hand, luv?” he practically purred, rising from the bench carefully. He didn’t even have to pretend to wince as he pulled on the muscles of his side.  
   
Almost instantly, she was beside him, steadying him, one hand placed cautiously on his shoulder and the other on his waist. He grunted gratefully and put a bit of his weight on her, causing their bodies to brush and her breath to hitch in her throat with arousal.  
   
“You got me?” he asked, laying the accent on extra thick. His breath brushed against her temple when he spoke.  
   
She gulped. “Oh, yeah…” she breathed.  
   
They made their way over to the pommel horse in the corner, and Spike finally leaned back against it with a groan. Rona took up the position right beside him, apparently just bold enough not to allow the distance between them to increase.  
   
“Thanks, pet,” he whispered, looking up at her under long lashes, a seductive glint in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned in…  
   
Her eyelashes fluttered closed, her head tilted up towards him in anticipation, her breath caught in her throat.  
   
He breathed out against her lips once and then, with the speed and experience of one hundred plus years, shifted into game face and switched course for the jugular before she could even notice the change. Fangs brushed skin hard enough to cause her to screech and leap back, but not enough to draw blood.  
   
“You’re dead,” he informed her in a low growl, demonic features twisted into a mask of dark hunger and the hunt.  
   
She froze for a moment, eyes wide with fear and then scrambled from the room terrified.  
   
And Spike leaned back wearily and shifted back into his human features. “Thus endeth the lesson…”


	19. Spike Self-Sucks - Spike/Spike

“You ever worry that this is a bit narcissistic?”  
   
“Well, that’s half the fun of it, innit?”  
   
“You know, if we were Angelus, we’d spend all our time fixing each other’s hair.”  
   
“And boastin’ about how all the world quakes at our tiny, little booties.”  
   
“Probably go from there to claimin’ we were pals of Caligula’s himself then.”  
   
“Uh… You’re showin’, mate.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“William. You’re showing William.”  
   
“Was I?”  
   
“Caligula? Little Boots?”  
   
“Oh, right. Annoying little twerp. Pops up with the nerdiest things at just the wrong moment.”  
   
“Tell me about it.”  
   
“You should’ve heard the speech I gave the Slayer the other week. All ‘I love you and watch me make a complete fool of myself at your feet’. Pathetic.”  
   
“At least you finally figured out how to screw her right.”  
   
“Yeah, for all the good it’s doin’ me. Stuck-up bitch treats me like garbage.”  
   
“Personally, ‘d just kill her and be done with it. But, then, ‘ve got Dru to shag.”  
   
“Miss Dru at times.”  
   
“Yeah, there’s a fate of mine I could live without knowing.”  
   
“Bloody depressing.”  
   
“’ll say.”  
   
“And you haven’t even _met_ Harm yet…”  
   
“Who?”  
   
“Ugh. Just…if ‘s possible to change the future? Er…past? Er…”  
   
“Whatever.”  
   
“Right. Word of advice, mate: Don’t pick up buxom blondes in Gap stores.”  
   
“Why the hell would I even _enter_ a Gap store?”  
   
“Er… Let’s just say, there are some levels of patheticness you’re better off not knowing.”  
   
“Oh, joy. Can hardly wait.”  
   
“Fuck, we’re fucked up.”  
   
“Used ‘fuck’ twice there.”  
   
“Well, what do you want? I’m _drunk_.”  
   
“Seems like a good way to be. ‘d be drunk if I were you, too.”  
   
“Er…”  
   
“Never mind. ‘m too pissed to sort that out, too.”  
   
“Good on you, mate.”  
   
“Bloody women…”  
   
“You said it.”  
   
“I mean, what’s wrong with ‘em, anyway?”  
   
“Out of their minds, the whole lot of them.”  
   
“Gotta be. Why else would they dump us?”  
   
“’S not like we don’t give it good.”  
   
“ _Very_ good.”  
   
“Right. We’re bloody brilliant! Just proved that quite well, I thought.”  
   
“We’re the best _I’ve_ ever had.”  
   
“Me, too. Er… Well, there was the bit where the house fell down. But we were part of that. Well, at least I was.”  
   
“Sounds beautiful.”  
   
“Oh, it was… Destruction and fucking everywhere the eye could see…”  
   
“And she dumped you after that?”  
   
“Like I said: Out of her mind.”  
   
“Obviously. I mean, we’re a right handsome bloke.”  
   
“Bleeding _gorgeous_.”  
   
“Have you seen our cheekbones?”  
   
“Lookin’ at ‘em right now, mate.”  
   
“Oh, er…right.”  
   
“Birds had half a straight mind, they’d be flockin’ to us.”  
   
“Daft little things.”  
   
“Almost feel sorry for ‘em.”  
   
“Me, too.”  
   
“So why on earth to they keep dumping us?”  
   
“Er…”  
   
“Bugger. Just ruined the mood again, didn’t I?”  
   
“Oh yeah.”  
   
“We suck at this.”  
   
“Leave the girl-talk to the girly-girls, mate.”  
   
“Right. Good plan.”  
   
“Best to just forget about it all.”  
   
“Screw them!”  
   
“Damn straight!”  
   
“Who needs ‘em, anyway?”  
   
“Not us. Er… At least right now.”  
   
“Right.”  
   
“Right.”  
   
“So…”  
   
“So…”  
   
“So… Wanna try a 69 this time?”  
   
“Fuck, yeah.”


	20. Tit for Tat - Spike/Tara

They’d called Tara a witch, a demon, and more.  
   
In retrospect, it was ironic. Back in those days, she’d been completely harmless. Magic had been wonderful, a way to explore the beauty of the world. Her mother had always taught her never to use her abilities for ill. Her mother had also died in this hellhole, her life spirit stamped out by those around her.  
   
But still Tara hadn’t broken. Not until _he’d_ come into her life. He’d killed on his own at first, and she’d born harsh witness. But they were alike in all but the restrictions placed upon them. Both demons. Both alone.  
   
She’d let him take her virginity in the dead of night, the stolen blood still warm in his veins from his latest kill. She’d been drawn to the magic in him, the only other thing that wasn’t mundane in this wasteland.  
   
All too soon he’d become her regular lover, her mate. A rumor was spreading that she was a witch, and he her demon familiar. She told him that one that night.  
   
“Close enough to the truth,” Spike laughed, forcing her hands roughly behind her back as he took her from behind.  
   
Tara winced and gasped at the size of his invasion. How could this be so painful and so wonderful all at once?  
   
“Should let loose a bitta the old mojo on them,” he concluded, silken accent against her ear as he slowed his pace to a tortuous ebb and flow. In and out, in and out almost gently now, stimulating rather than damaging. “Don’t ever let them hurt you again…” His voice almost sounded broken at that.  
   
She ached to see him in that moment, to see what was hidden in those frighteningly human eyes. He’d cried out a name in his sleep several times – Dru – but he refused to discuss it, stormed out for days at a time whenever she mentioned it. But she was smart enough to know that the fact that he was missing this Dru was what was keeping her alive when every other mortal he met died a bloody death.  
   
He came inside her, against her, on top of her, completely obvious to her thoughts. He released her as he fell limp, and she turned in his arms, held him close as he collapsed against her. She hadn’t come, but at that moment she didn’t care.  
   
Her father had taught her how wicked this was. Sneaking out into the barn with a man. And she’d chosen, not just a man, but a demon, a vampire, a monster. Like attracted like, it seemed.  
   
“I can kill them for you, if you like,” Spike whispered against the soft flesh of her breast, his body looking almost flail in her arms as she held him.  
   
She just hushed him softly, fingers running through soft platinum hair. “I can do it myself,” she assured him, her lips meeting his.  
   
After all, her family had raised her to be a monster. It was about time she lived up to their expectations.


	21. Utterly Unanticipated Unity - Spike/Ubervamp

Even with thousands of years to separate them, the monster torturing Spike still recognized its own kind. It’d taken Spike a while to realize it – maybe even longer than it had taken the Turok-han, but the creature knew him, responded to him.  
   
He noticed it first when the beast clawed at the bare flesh of his back. There was pain, yes, but he’d felt pain like this before. The demonic talons of past lovers had touched him like this – Drusilla, Darla, Angelus… And the pain wasn’t so deep, not like the skull-rattling, internally-bruising blows he had suffered earlier. This wasn’t pain to hurt; it was pain to _connect_. He’d known pain like that all his unlife, received whips and licks from Angelus in punishment and reward, fed Drusilla’s hunger for torment and sex. The prehistoric monster clawed his back like that, just deep enough for claws to break skin, bring fine rivulets of blood to the surface in a rich map of tiny red streams. A lover would taste them, savor his flesh, his pain, his blood. But the two of them were no lovers, and the creature seemed to understand that boundary, even as it was puzzled by what its darkest demonic senses were telling it: that, despite it all, they were two of a kind.  
   
So it settled for marking Spike, with point to flesh, hardening at the sight of undead pain. It was the demon’s natural response to that which it knew: pain and sex and nothing more in that narrow existence. Blurring the line between the two, the creature moved in front of him, cutting again, slowly and methodically this time. Almost tender in its torture. Spike breathed in a hiss, but this was a pain he could handle. A pain that was the closest thing to love he’d ever known. And, Christ, he was fucked up. He hated himself in that moment, more than usual even. Hated the foolish, vile creature inside him that ever thought he could be any better. Hated all that he’d done, all that he’d been.  
   
The ubervamp sniffed the air, and even Spike could smell the acrid scent of shame. The creature’s eyes expressed surprise and perhaps even the most rudimentary beginnings of consciousness. Then, in sudden recognition, its expression turned from curiosity and affiliation to disgust. Its fist smashed into Spike’s cheek, shattering bone, bruising flesh, and causing a not entirely unpleasant ringing to sound through Spike’s brain; that last side-effect probably hadn’t been intentional.  
   
And Spike couldn’t help but laugh sardonically as he spat the cold, stolen blood from his mouth. “That’s right, mate,” he taunted wickedly. “I’m your destiny.”  
   
The creature hissed, flailed, raged. Almost as if it could comprehend Spike’s words.  
   
“A few thousand years and your kind will be just like me.” To consciousness and, from that, to conscience. For some reason, in Spike’s dazed stupor from the blow, that similarity seemed hysterical, and he laughed out his pain into the cavern.  
   
The ubervamp retreated as if horrified of its dark future.  
   
And Spike just grinned. “Evolution’s a bitch, innit?”


	22. The Value of Vindication - Spike/Vi

It was always the one you least expected. And Spike had come not to expect any of them at all.  
   
It had been almost ten years now. Since the destruction of the Hellmouth, the final battle with the forces of Hell, since Buffy’d won her freedom and Angel had won his humanity. Glorious, stunning victories that granted their heroes a ‘happily ever after’ and left him even further in the shadows than he’d been before. In all of the last decade, neither had tried to contact him, almost as if he was some shameful little alliance they’d had to form. Something best swept under the carpet.  
   
Which was why he was so surprised to hear the knock on his apartment door and recognize the scent of Slayer outside  
   
Now, there was a chance the Slayer was out to have a go at him without knowing who he was. But the familiar scent… It must’ve one of those girls he helped train; he hadn’t been close to any Slayers since. But why one would come to him now?  
   
Curiosity won out, and he opened the door. “What?”  
   
He didn’t recognize the girl. And, actually, girl wasn’t quite right. _Woman_. All those girls from so long ago were nearing thirty now, weren’t they? She was a nice enough looking, slim with dark hair and round eyes, but he still couldn’t remember her. So many girls had been about back then, and he’d been doing his best to close himself off…  
   
“You haven’t aged a day…” she whispered, almost in awe. “I mean, I knew in theory, but… Wow. It’s really _you_.”  
   
His brow furrowed. “And you are?”  
   
“Vi.”  
   


* * *

   
They’d taken to patrolling together. More because Spike was lonely than anything else. And this Slayer knew her stuff. And he’d seen quite a few mediocre ones of late. He couldn’t help but be a _little_ proud that he’d been the one to teach her.  
   
“We never talked back then,” she commented casually into the night air.  
   
“No.”  
   
“You spent most of your time hiding in the basement. Everyone thought it was some ‘vampire thing’.”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Not that you’re exactly communicative now.” She laughed. “I always suspected it was just a _you_ thing. It’s kind of… _endearing_. A shy vampire.” Her smile was downright devilish now.  
   
“Hey!” he protested, facing her.  
   
“Don’t like being endearing?” she teased.  
   
“As a matter of fact…”  
   
“Show me.”  
   
He frowned as she entered a defensive stance.  
   
“C’mon,” she urged. “There are no demons to fight. And I could use a good spar.”  
   
And a wicked grin that she could never compete with crossed his face as he had at her.  
   


* * *

   
“I never understood why they hated you so…”  
   
“Demon here,” he pointed out sarcastically.  
   
She considered him. “I never hated you,” she finally informed him. “I was intimidated by you, yes, but I never…” She trailed off and studied him.  
   
“What?” He felt vaguely uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  
   
“Did you ever wonder why I found you?” she finally asked hesitantly.  
   
The question left him almost afraid to speak.  
   
“I could never say anything back then. But last month I stumbled across your address in the Watcher’s records and… I hoped I’d be braver now.”  
   
“Braver? Didn’t you knock off a dozen Turok-han?”  
   
“Not about that,” she offered coyly before leaning in and brushing her lips against his. She pulled almost instantly, gulped, and nodded to herself. “ _Definitely_ braver now.”  
   
He blinked at her, completely thrown for a moment that someone _had_ wanted him. Even all those years ago. And then, before she could turn away, he caught her roughly by the arms and pulled her in for a kiss that left him hard and panting. Her own body wrapped around his, and her arousal scented the air, and…  
   
What did you know? All those years, he’d been chasing the wrong Slayer.


	23. When Witches Want Wantonly - Spike/Willow/Warren

Some days, Willow regretted how easy things had been back when it was just her and Oz. Things had been calmer then, less chaotic. Of course, almost anything in the universe would be less chaotic than the two men (well, technically, vampire in one case) who had come to fill the hours of her day now that Oz was gone.  
   
The first new presence she’d picked up in her life had run into her quite by chance at the one session of UC Sunnydale’s Wiccan club meeting that she’d actually been able to stomach. Warren Meers had been a rather frantic sophomore who, oops, had accidentally done _something_ magically screwy when he’d been trying to build lifelike perfection into the robot he was creating in his mom’s basement. Willow could sympathize: both with the magical screw-up and with the extreme levels of geekitude required to build a robot. And since no one _else_ in the Wiccan club had had a chance in hell of helping him, she’d offered her services and they’d naturally bonded while uncursing robotic limbs that skittered all willy-nilly across the Meers’ basement floor.  
   
Her second companion had been bummed off on her the night after she’d met Warren. Because, even though Spike hadn’t been responsible for the mute spell in the slightest, Xander still refused to have anything to do with him, and Giles had grown more than impatient with his irritating houseguest. Willow had felt oddly sympathetic for the newly-homeless vampire – after all, they’d bonded through his lack of being able to rip out her throat and her being dumped by her werewolf boyfriend – and so she’d hooked him up with her other new friend. Naturally. After all, there _was_ a spare couch in the Meers’ basement. Problem solved, right?  
   
She’d realized on day two that she’d made a teensy little miscalculation. The sort of miscalculation made by mixing glycerol and nitric acid. Namely: Boom! Frankly, half the problem could’ve just been resolved if Spike would have just up and _admitted_ that he liked Star Wars after all, but no. He had that Big Bad image to keep up. And Warren’s nearly hysterical glee when he realized that Spike couldn’t touch him concerned her almost as much.  
   
So she’d done what was natural. It had been harmless, really. A simple anti-aggression spell. Just a little thing to help them get along.  
   
So, why, when she went over to Warren’s that afternoon, were the two of them naked, lips locked and bodies intertwined? And why, despite the fact that she realized she’d screwed up yet again, did she find herself powerless to do anything but watch in rapt fascination?  
   
And then feral yellow eyes met hers, followed by dark, lust-filled human ones, and she was lost…  
   
“Been waitin’ for you, pet,” Spike practically purred.  
   
“C’mere,” Warren agreed lazily beneath him, extending a hand to her.  
   
Willow gulped, wondered dizzily in the back of her mind if maybe that spell had affected her too, and was unable to refuse them. Felt them surround her, hard and willing and incredible. Because good girls in knit cotton sweaters didn’t behave like this. But then, if the theory that miscast spells bespoke of hidden desires was true, maybe she wasn’t a good girl after all.  
   
Some days, Willow regretted how things had once been. But today wasn’t one of them.


	24. Xander x Xander - Spike/Xander/Xander

“Bloody hell!” Spike leapt up from Xander’s couch, splattering Doritos crumbs everywhere. “I knew it.” He rubbed his eyes. “’ve died and gone to hell.”  
   
“Spike, what on earth are you doing here?” one of the Xanders demanded. And, Christ, this really _was_ hell because there was not just one whelp, but _two_.  
   
Spike gestured vaguely in the direction of the nice cable television, while still trying to clean out his eyes. Maybe it was a nightmare. Nightmares were nice, wonderful things wherein the world wasn’t suddenly cursed with _two_ Xanders.  
   
“And when did I say you could come back here?” the one Xander demanded again. “God, what if _my parents_ had seen you?”  
   
“Your mum’s the one that let me in,” Spike offered dully.  
   
“Oh god.” Xander #1 was freaking out.  
   
At which point Xander #2 finally decided to speak up. “Be nice,” he insisted. “At least if he’s here, he’s not out _there_ causing chaos.”  
   
“Spike proximity,” Xander #1 insisted. “Proximity of Spike!”  
   
Xander #2 considered the vampire for a moment. “Actually, he’s kind of hot.”  
   
Xander #1 instantly turned into a sputtering mess.  
   
“What?” Spike demanded, finally fully absorbing the fact that, yes, indeed there were two Xanders and that they were twice as annoying as one, while shaking off his stunned stupor. “Some mad scientist decide to split you into your fairy and repressed halves?”  
   
Xander #1’s sputtering turned into frantic coughing.  
   
“Actually,” Xander #2 considered for a moment, “that’s pretty close to the truth.”  
   
“I do _not_ have a fairy half!” Xander #1 insisted. “No fairies, elves, or other little girly animals.” He waved his hands about in a repulsed gesture, looking for all the world like he was fending off a swarm of invisible fairies.  
   
Spike raised one eyebrow at him in disbelief. “All right. So that’s the real Xander.” He turned to the second one. “Who in bleedin’ hell are you?”  
   
“I’m Xander, too,” Xander #2 said.  
   
“Xander Two?”  
   
“Xander, too.”  
   
“Xander, _also_ ,” Xander #1 clarified.  
   
Spike blinked at them both. “Riiiight…”  
   
“So,” Xander #2 had taken the opportunity to collapse onto the couch beside him and threw a comradely arm around his shoulders, “how about it?”  
   
“It? _It_?!” Xander #1 practically screeched. “There will be no _it_! _It_ is hereby banned, in perpetuity, throughout the universe!”  
   
Spike watched him, head cocked to one side as if he were some particularly fascinating zoo specimen. “Top or bottom?” he asked curiously.  
   
“Actually,” Xander #2 considered, “I kind of suspect both at the same time…”  
   
“I’m not gay!” Xander #1 insisted. “No gay! Gay bad!”  
   
Two pairs of blinking eyes looked up at him.  
   
“…Unless it’s Willow,” he hastily backtracked. “Because it’s cool with her. And her girlfriends. And anyone else who _is_ gay. But ‘me gay’ equals _baaaaad_!”  
   
“Just the two of us, then?” Spike asked Xander #2 innocently.  
   
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Xander #1 put his hands over his ears and fled from the room…  
   
…And Xander #2 shrugged, leaned in…  
   
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Xander #1 ran _back_ into the room, caught Xander #2 roughly by the arm, and dragged him out still screaming.  
   
Spike shrugged, muttered “bloody poofter” under his breath, and turned back to the telly. After all, he could watch Xander’s mundane little internal conflicts any time he wanted, although not usually in surround sound, but it wasn’t every day there was a Twin Peaks marathon.


	25. Yes, You-Fics are Yucky - Spike/You

You’re totally the hottest girl in all of Sunnydale. Way hotter than Buffy, Anya, Willow, and Cordelia combined. So, naturally, everyone loves you. Except maybe Xander, because you hate him for being mean to Spike. And maybe Buffy because she’s a bitch and trying to steal Spike, who’s totally rightfully _yours_ , away from you. And, given that, it’s probably unlikely that everyone would love you, but what do spoilsport readers know anyway, huh? This is _your_ ‘verse and everyone loves you, dammit! Logic schmogic.  
   
So, right. You’re hot. And you’re totally powerful, too. Like, you’re a witch and a vampire and Slayer all at the same time. And possibly also a siren. Or a fairy, like that hot guy in Lord of the Rings. And you’re _sooo_ going to kick the ass of that reader who told you he was an elf, not a fairy. You, like, totally read an article on mythology you googled online and you’re way into that stuff, so you know better than them anyway.  
   
Not only are you super-hot and super-popular and super-powerful, but you’re also bad and cool. In a way, you’re like Faith, except with lustrous lavender eyes and golden flowing hair with red and blue highlights that glitter in the moonlight like shining stars fallen to earth. Really, it’s no wonder Spike’s totally in love with you. And always has been. If people can’t deal with that, then they just shouldn’t read this story, dammit! No one’s making them read. And it’s totally annoying that they keep telling you that your Spike’s OOC. And you’re not sure really sure what means, but you _think_ it might be a TV show on FOX. So screw them, anyway.  
   
You and Spike are totally in love (OTP4EVAOMG!), and you go to, like, the mall and stuff. And he holds your hand and walks around with his shirt off. Because: OMG HOT!  
   
And he totally kills people you don’t like. Because, even though you’re the uberpowerfulest witch-slayer-vampire-siren-fairy in the whole wide world, you’re still a total girly-girl. No wonder everyone loves you! So, yeah. This guy in your geography class was mean to you one day, and Spike ate him because he’s the dotingest boyfriend EVAH! And when you turn sixteen, you’re totally going to marry him and have babies, even though he’s a vampire and can’t have babies. Like that bitch pointed out on this story on ff.net last week. Ha! Spike ate _her_ too. And your math teacher. Because math is, like, hard. Plus, you’re just a girl anyway. Who needs to think? And why on earth do people keep pointing out that BtVS is supposed to be feminist, anyway? You totally don’t get it.  
   
“Bloody buggering buttery bollix!” Spike says to you one day, because all the cool kids make up bad British slang and spell it wrong.  
   
And you totally have it engraved on a heart-shaped necklace and wear it with you wherever you go. And some slut calls you a Mary-Sue, but you just have Spike eat her. ‘Cause she’s obviously jealous of your amazing writing talent; you know this because your BFF tells you while you pass notes in English.  
   
And that wiseass who asked if you were really Harmony in disguise? Is _totally_ jealous that _she_ doesn’t have a foot-long undead sausage crammed up her twat like you do.  
   
So there.


	26. The Zany Zealot Zone - Spike/Zackary Kralik

The fresh blood of the kill was warm on his tongue, and Spike drank it up greedily as the last breath of life was expelled by his evening meal. The night was still young, and his prey’s final cry like music to his ears. Licking his lips, he lowered the leftovers to the ground of the small clearing into which she’d been foolish enough to follow him. Although if her scent was any indication, her death had been as good for her as it had been for him.  
   
Disposing of the remains had preoccupied him for a few moments, and when he finally returned his attention to the world around him, he was almost startled to see the vampire who had crept up upon him while he’d been feeding. It was a younger vampire, true, probably no real threat to him, but still that was just plain sloppy.  
   
“Not much left of her,” he growled to the other, keeping his demonic features to the forefront. He wasn’t about to let his guard down again.  
   
“You’re Ssspike?” the other asked with an almost deranged giggle. “Yes. Yes, you are!”  
   
“What of it?” he snorted and began circling the younger vampire menacingly.  
   
The other seemed not to mind. “I’ve been searching for you. Oh, yes, I have,” he announced in a voice that sounded both cheerful and deranged all at once.  
   
Spike’s patience for deranged behavior began and ended with Dru. _She_ could crown him king of the buttercups, for all he cared; this bloke had better learn to shut up and move on, if he knew what was good for him.  
   
“My name is Zachary Kralik,” he whispered conspiratorially.  
   
And Spike just rolled his eyes. Ever since this wanker had been turned, everyone and their sire had been denying that they’d done it. It had probably seemed like a brilliant idea at the time – turn a sociopath – but the git was so damned _annoying_ that everyone was quickly running in the opposite direction. Rumor even had it that the Order of Ptemekh was planning on dumping him into one of those stupid traps the Watchers set out, just to get rid of the nut-job.  
   
“Good on you, mate,” Spike said without enthusiasm.  
   
“Oh, how I’ve been searching for you…”  
   
Spike lit up a cigarette, already bored. And maybe a little bit gassy. What had that girl been eating, anyway? “You mentioned that already.”  
   
“You killed the Slayer!”  
   
“One of ‘em.”  
   
“I’ve killed the Slayer too, you know. She just keeps coming back to life…”  
   
“Uh-huh.” Spike raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sure you have.” The incident in question was, for course, the time that dear old deranged Z.K. had found some random bloke whose last name was ‘Salyer’ and cheerfully dismembered him. The younger vampire seemed not to comprehend that 40-year-old balding mechanics could _not_ be the Slayer.  
   
Zachary sidled up to him, fingers playing with one button on Spike’s shirt as if it were some secret treasure. “Together, we could rule the world,” he hissed conspiratorially.  
   
Spike considered it for a moment, checked out the other vampire’s behind, and concluded that, no, even playing along for a while wasn’t worth the effort. “Sounds brilliant, mate. Why don’t you go hide in the bushes over there, and I’ll chase the world your way. Then, you can bite it.”  
   
“Yes, yes!” the other agreed eagerly. Tiptoeing carefully over to the bushes.  
   
Spike just shook his head and left him there. “Nutter.”


	27. Ode to Spike

> A is for Ass: Spike’s pretty white cheeks;  
> B’s for the Blowjobs he so often seeks.
> 
> As for C, the next line you’ll need…  
> To find out with D, they form Cold Dead seed.
> 
> E is for Eyes, so soulful and blue;  
> F’s for the Fine Fucking he gives to you.
> 
> G is for Garlic, strange kink for a vampire;  
> H is for hands whose caress makes you perspire.
> 
> I sure isn’t Idol, ‘cause Spike had the look first;  
> J’s for the Jizz when Spike screams and comes in a burst.
> 
> K is for Kisses, a Spike-fantisizin’ must;  
> And L’s for the overwhelming Spike-lovin’ Lust.
> 
> M’s for the Manacles, lest sex be too hasty;  
> N’s for pretty Necks, ripe, sweet, and tasty.
> 
> O is for Orgasms; Spike sure does dig ‘em;  
> P is for Penis ‘cause Spike’s got a big ‘un!
> 
> Q is for Queer: so many indications;  
> R’s for those Rough sexual inclinations.
> 
> S is for Sex, since Spike’s so mind-bogglingly hung;  
> T’s for that toe-curlin’, maddening, sensual Tongue.
> 
> U is for Underwear, Spike’s favorite fetish;  
> V’s for the Vibrator when you think of Spike in bed-ish. :P
> 
> W is for Wanking, of which Spike does a ton;  
> X is for Xander’s brand of Spike-bondage fun!
> 
> Y is the “Yes!” one screams when Spike’s doing the sucking;  
> Z’s for the Zzzz’s Spike gets after a hard day of fucking.

  


  



End file.
